


You Were the Ocean, I Was Just a Stone

by al_ex_an_d_er_hamiltons



Series: The Fisherman AU Series [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Patrick also has curly hair, Slow Burn, idiots to lovers who are still idiots, patrick is a fisherman, tw: alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22022290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/al_ex_an_d_er_hamiltons/pseuds/al_ex_an_d_er_hamiltons
Summary: David tried to ignore how the sight of Patrick- staring into the ocean, wind-tossed, swaddled in thick-knit wool, and looking downright beautiful with the early morning sunlight bouncing off his curls- made him feel at home for the first time in years.Or, David returns to his hometown of Peggy's Cove and reconnects with an old aquaintance, a fisherman by the name of Patrick Brewer.AKA the long-awaited Fisherman AU.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: The Fisherman AU Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649650
Comments: 271
Kudos: 463





	1. I Need an Ocean to Carry My Mood

**Author's Note:**

> First thing first: This story is completed and I plan to update it every third day. The "M" rating is for content in a a later chapter.  
> Secondly, a huge thank you to my betas Annie and Anna for helping with proper formatting, catching my mistakes, coming up with chapter titles and everything in between! Most especially, thank you for easing my anxieties and talking me through some of the parts I was struggling with. I couldn't have finished this without you!  
> The title of this work comes from the song Black Flies by Ben Howard.  
> I created a playlist to go along with this fic, which can be found here: https://tinyurl.com/s34zjqc
> 
> It's a shortened version of this playlist: https://tinyurl.com/secue93  
> which is what I listened to while writing it. It was curated with the help of my incredible friends, without whom this fic wouldn’t have happened. I highly recommend listening to the shorter one while reading! Each song mentioned in the story is included, and each chapter title comes from a song on the playlist. 
> 
>   
> Please see additional notes for more information and thank-yous!

David stepped out of the taxi and took a deep breath of cool, salty sea air. 

With the exception of one brief visit seven years ago when his grandmother died, David hadn't been home to Peggy’s Cove since he left almost immediately after graduating from high school. Holidays, birthdays, and other special events...either his family came to him or they relied on FaceTime to reconnect. His tiny hometown made David feel claustrophobic, and every one of his senses were currently reminding him of a lifetime of wanting nothing more than to run away. Even now, he fought the urge to tug at the neck of his sweater as he took another deep, shaky breath. 

When he’d gotten a phone call from his mother five days ago that his dad had fallen, he feared the worst. He pictured his father laying at the bottom of the stairs, bruised and broken, and icy fingers of anxiety clutched at his stomach. The less-scary reality was that he’d tripped over the welcome mat on their porch and had suffered a broken hip and some mild indignity. 

Even if it wasn’t as bad as David had feared, however, it was still bad enough: his parents had asked him to come home and help run the business his family had owned for as long as he could remember until his dad was back on his feet. They’d asked him for so little over the years, accepting his need to stay away even if they couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t tell them no. 

Five months. That's it. He’d taken a sabbatical from the gallery he managed and sublet his apartment, telling everyone he’d be back in five months. He could handle five months. 

He made his way to their store, wheeling his luggage with one hand, straining up the slight incline. The Sou’Wester was a combination restaurant/gift shop located a short distance from the town’s iconic lighthouse, which served fresh catch on the bottom floor and sold crafts and souvenirs on the upper level. David spent his summers working there growing up, waiting tables and manning the register and hating life, counting down the days until graduation and swearing he’d never clear a table or work for tips again. It was the only restaurant properly in town, and business boomed during tourist season. Now, towards the end of September, things were slowing down, but Johnny Rose would be out of commission long enough to necessitate David’s help when things ramped up during Christmas and again towards spring. They’d asked him to manage the store while his mother and sister ran the restaurant, a task David felt confident in after managing the gallery for so many years. 

David braced himself as he paused outside the door. It had been over a year since he’d seen his family; a busy year for the store had prevented them from being able to get away to visit him in New York. Taking a deep breath, he shouldered the door open and stepped inside. 

He was nearly knocked off his feet by a flurry of light hair and jangly jewelry, his sister’s shriek nearly splitting his eardrum. 

“David! I missed you!” Alexis sang as she hugged him tightly around the middle.

“Okay, yes. Hi Alexis, I missed you too.” David patted her back placatingly.

“Alexis, release your brother so the rest of us can get a look at him!” David turned his head to see his mother coming out from behind the restaurant’s checkout counter. David regarded her fondly; from her he had inherited his sense of style and pride in his appearance. Moira had grown up in Toronto, not Peggy’s Cove, and she never let the locals forget that fact. Falling in love with their father, she often said, meant falling in love with the village, but it didn’t mean falling out of love with who she was before and where she came from. 

Alexis finally let go of David, and Moira placed a gentle hand on his cheek. 

“It’s good to see you, my dear. I’m sorry to have to ask you to come here, but…” 

David shook his head, waving a hand dismissively. 

“It’s fine. I know you wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t really need me.” David looked around at the near-empty restaurant. “Where’s dad?”

“He’s at home, resting. And overseeing some....preparations.” Moira said this last part furtively, turning her gaze away from David. 

“Preparations? Preparations for what?” David felt his voice getting higher as he looked back and forth between his sister and mother. 

“We’re throwing you a welcome home party, David!” Alexis couldn’t keep the glee out of her voice, clasping her hands together beneath her chin. 

“I’m sorry? You’re doing _what_?” 

A welcome home party was exactly the opposite of what David needed. He wasn’t _coming home_ anyway; this was merely a pit stop, and reconnecting with people from his past was the last thing he wanted. 

“David, don’t be so dramatic! Most people in this town haven’t seen you in over a decade. They wanted to welcome you back.” Moira admonished.

“Unbelievable. You didn’t even ask…” David took a deep breath, rubbing his face with one hand. “When exactly is this little party?”

“It’s tonight.” Moira turned on her heel, walking away towards the bar. David threw his hands up in exasperation. 

“Tonight? Could it not have at least waited a couple of days so I could, I don’t know. Settle in? Sleep off the jetlag?” 

Alexis rolled her eyes at him. “David, there is a one-hour time difference between here and New York. You do not have jet lag.” 

“Fuck off, Alexis,” he shot back. She waved him off with an annoyed grunt and flounced out of the room. 

“David, stop acting like a child.” Moira called from across the restaurant. “Your father wanted to have this party as a way of thanking you for coming. Half the town is going to be there-”

“ _Half the--_ Okay. I’m going to go for a walk. I need some fresh air.” 

What David really needed was a stiff drink and some pharmaceuticals, but he was willing to take what he could get. The town was nowhere near big enough to provide a long enough walk to truly work through it all, but it was worth a try. 

He took a meandering path through town, his expensive shoes muffled on the pavement. He passed by homes of people he’d known his entire life, nodding politely at those who called out to him. Peggy’s Cove was definitely not New York, where he could walk the streets anonymously and go days without speaking to someone he actually knew. It got lonely sometimes, sure, but at least he wasn’t subjected to everyone knowing every minute detail of his life and hearing their opinions about it. 

Continuing his walk, David rounded a corner at the edge of town, towards the docks. The local fishermen were coming in with their catch for the day, laughing and talking as they did various tasks involving manual labor. David recognized some of them in a vague way; many of the weathered faces those of men he'd grown up watching, just a little older. A few, he was sure based on age, were his old classmates, people that had never managed to leave town. From this distance, he couldn't point to anyone specific, and pondered taking a closer look. 

The thing was, growing up in Peggy’s Cove wasn’t completely awful. Not all the time. David was different, something he knew and embraced and took into stride from a young age. But it had been an incredibly lonely upbringing, having no shared interests with and bigger ambitions than most of his peers. David had always stuck out like a sore thumb among the flannel and Carhartt, bucking expectations as soon as he was old enough to dress himself. He'd long since stopped being afraid of his childhood bullies, though, and curiosity got the best of him. 

He walked closer to the boats, leaning against a fence post on the dock to watch them work. One of the young men, nearest to him, was coiling a length of rope around his arm, head thrown back in laughter at something his fellow crewman had said. Tossing the rope aside, he pulled his baseball cap off his head and scrubbed one hand through his curly hair. The sun glinted off his curls like a halo, lighting them up auburn. David was captivated by his movements, the muscles in his back just visible through the waffle-knit material of the thermal shirt he was wearing. The man turned suddenly towards David, reaching for a trap at his feet, and David's stomach clenched - he recognized the man in the same instant that their eyes met. The other man's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and David raised one hand in greeting. 

"Hey," the man called, dropping the trap at his feet again and closing the short distance towards David. "David Rose, is that you?" His smile was broad and easy, that of someone who smiled a lot, as he bunched his hat in his hands before gesturing to himself. "Patrick. Patrick Brewer. Remember me?" 

David cleared his throat, nodding. 

"Yes, hi. It’s been a long time, I wasn’t sure if you would recognize me." Part of David had hoped he’d transformed himself enough that he’d have some anonymity here, at least for awhile, but deep down he knew that was ridiculous. Even if his parents hadn’t told everyone he was coming, the town was small enough that word would have gotten out within an hour of his arrival. 

Patrick ducked his head to smooth back his curls. David was again distracted by the movement, mesmerized for a moment before Patrick looked up again, meeting his eye. David didn't remember his eyes being so expressive as a kid. Then again, he’d never paid much attention to Patrick Brewer at all. 

"Well, you know. The prodigal son returns. Word travels fast in a town with less than a hundred people. Have you forgotten that in your time away?" 

David shrugged noncommittally, unsure how to respond. 

"And besides," Patrick continued, nodding towards David with a jerk of his chin, "I don't know anyone else who'd dress like that around here." 

David looked down at his clothing, smoothing a hand over his sweater and skirted pants.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thanks,” he said, pointedly nodding towards Patrick’s bright orange rubber waders. 

When he looked back up at Patrick’s face, his mouth was quirked to one side and David realized he was being teased by this man he hadn't seen or spoken to in well over a decade. 

By virtue of the size of Peggy's Cove, David had known Patrick his entire life, or at least known _of_ him. He was a couple of years younger than David and a few years older than Alexis, and they had shared some electives in high school, crossing paths often enough to be acquainted, if not exactly friends. What David remembered of Patrick was that he was sweet but shy, well-liked if somewhat nerdy. He played baseball but looked more like was on the debate team - which, David suddenly remembered, he _was_ also on. 

The man standing in front of him was not the same scrawny, nerdy, debate-team Patrick Brewer he knew. This Patrick was cool, confident, self-assured. And, David thought suddenly, feeling flushed, _very_ grown up. 

“Welcome back, anyway. I’m sure you can tell nothing’s changed around here.” Patrick waved a hand around, gesturing at Peggy’s Cove at large.

“I don’t know about _that_ ,” David said absentmindedly, once again finding himself enthralled as he looked at Patrick. Realizing too late he’d said it out loud, David blushed as Patrick pressed his lips together and tilted his head to the side, looking at David with a curious expression on his face. 

“Brewer! Quit flirting and get back to work!” It was Patrick’s turn to blush as he turned to wave dismissively at one of his fellow fishermen, his smile still securely in place as they laughed at him.

“I should go. Maybe I’ll see you around?” Inexplicably, David found himself nodding in affirmation as he watched Patrick go back to work. Patrick tossed one more glance at him over his shoulder, and David found himself calling out to him before he could stop himself. 

“Patrick, wait!” Patrick halted in his tracks and turned back. “Um. My parents are having this thing tonight, at their house? Like a welcome home party. For me. I guess.” Patrick’s eyebrows raised expectantly. After a beat, David realized he should get to his point. 

“You should stop by. I mean, if you don’t have anything else going on. Or if you’re not busy, or whatever. If you wanted?” David realized he was beginning to prattle on, and tucked his lips between his teeth to physically stop himself. 

“Thanks. I’ll try to make it.” Patrick smiled again, lowering his voice to a whisper. ”If I’m not too busy.” David felt somewhat unsteady on his feet. He was used to being laughed at and talked about by the residents of his hometown, but Patrick’s teasing felt different, like David was in on the joke for once. He awkwardly waved goodbye and headed back in the direction of the restaurant, silently wondering what he’d just gotten himself into. 

* * *

Later that night, David hovered in the kitchen of his parents’ home, keeping close to the snacks and eating more out of anxiety than hunger. The kitchen was, at the moment, mercifully empty, and he took full advantage of the moment of privacy to shamelessly chow down. Someone had brought a smoked seafood dip that was absolutely divine, and David didn’t intend on sharing it with anyone else. 

David took another bite of dip, spread on a cracker, and threw his head back, closing his eyes and making appreciative noises that bordered on indecent for a public setting. 

“I take it you like the dip?” David opened his eyes and spun around, mortified to see Patrick leaning against the doorway. His compact frame was wrapped in a cozy-looking, thick-knit blue pullover sweater. David found himself wanting to reach out and feel how soft the material was. 

“When did...how- how long have you been there?” David tried to keep his voice casual, but the smile on Patrick’s face told him he wasn’t successful. 

“Long enough to see you thoroughly enjoying about half of my dip.” 

“ _You_ made this dip?”

“Should I be offended that you’re so surprised by that?” Patrick squinted at him playfully, crossing his arms across his chest. The sleeves of his sweater were pushed up to his elbows, exposing his well-muscled forearms. David swallowed, chastising himself silently. Forearms should not be making him feel...whatever it was he was currently feeling. 

“It’s just really good!” David said emphatically. “Like, this rivals the smoked fish spread I get at Russ and Daughters back home. What do you put in this? It’s amazing.” 

“Can’t tell you that. Trade secret.” Patrick winked at him, and David’s stomach flipped. “But mostly Old Bay.” David felt like swooning, right then and there. What was happening to him?

“You should let us sell this in the restaurant as an appetizer. Or even in the store? Our refrigerated foods section could use an upgrade. It would sell really well, this stuff is incredible.”

“Thanks. But I’m not sure about that. I really just make it for family. Holidays, things like that.” Patrick shrugged. David nodded, mouth twisting to the side. 

“And welcome home parties for people you haven’t seen in a decade.”

“That, too.” Patrick conceded with a smile. 

“I wish you would think about it, at least. It could be a...mutually beneficial business relationship.”

Patrick tilted his head, squinting slightly. “Mutually beneficial business relationship?”

“Yes, you know, like it would help us both.”

“I know what it means, David. I just don’t know why you think it would help me.”

David rolled his eyes. “I mean, I know fishing season is almost over for the year, and it’s not like industry overall is exactly booming nowadays-” Patrick cut him off. 

“Oh, so you think I need help because my business is failing.” 

David’s mouth dropped open, a flush creeping up his neck. He was momentarily speechless, having managed to stick his foot in his mouth spectacularly. “That’s- that’s not what I was trying to say, I’m sorry-” 

Patrick’s face broke into a grin.“David, relax. I was joking.” 

“Oh,” David breathed. Again, he felt slightly off-kilter; he wasn’t used to having this easy, teasing sort of rapport with someone. It made him feel...seen and known in a way he couldn’t explain. David waved this thought away; day one back in Peggy’s Cove and he was already getting sucked back in. He thought of his apartment in New York, his gallery, his glamorous life there with his friends. Those were his people. Not somewhat cute-in-a-wholesome-way, curly-haired fishermen who never left their hometown. 

“Anyway. How about I think about it, and I’ll get back to you?” Patrick’s voice pulled David out of his reverie. David nodded silently, and Patrick excused himself. Heaving a sigh, David followed him out of the kitchen, steeling himself to mingle with the other guests. 

* * *

A few days later, the store was quiet, and David was alone counting inventory during a late-afternoon lull when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Peeking his head out from where he was knelt behind the counter, he saw Patrick looking around with mild interest at all the wares. 

David’s heart sped up at the sight of him. He was bundled in a surprisingly stylish peacoat, a beanie pulled snug around his ears. His mass of curls poked out from underneath it in every direction, and his cheeks and nose were pink from the cold. David didn’t realize he was frozen in place, staring, until Patrick’s dark eyes met his own. A soft smile spread across his face as he raised a hand in greeting, curiously taking in the sight of David on the floor. 

“Hi,” David said softly, smiling in return as he got to his feet as gracefully as he could to stand in front of the register. “Can I help you with something?”

“Actually, yes. I was contemplating that...mutually beneficial business relationship you were talking about the other day.”

David’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I thought about it, and I think you’re right. Selling some of my stuff here...It might not be a bad way to supplement my income during the off-season.” 

“Oh--okay. Well. I’ll have to talk to my dad, see if we can come up with a contract of some kind. Or something.” 

“Of course. A contract or something sounds good.” Patrick had that teasing glint in his eyes again. David smiled in spite of himself, choosing to ignore it. 

David found himself strangely pleased with this development, a little thrill coursing through him at the thought of working together in some capacity. 

“But can we say we have a verbal agreement for now?” he asked. 

“Sure. A verbal agreement.” Patrick smiled and stuck a hand out, and David took it tentatively, shaking it in what he hoped was a businesslike way. He couldn’t help but notice how rough Patrick’s hands were, calloused and cracked from his line of work. He must have made a face, because Patrick quickly withdrew from the handshake, rubbing his fingertips together. 

“Yeah, sorry about that. Rough hands. Occupational hazard.”

“I might have something that could help? If you wanted?” David offered. 

Patrick shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt, I guess.”

David led him to the skincare section of the store, a small, neglected corner that didn’t see much traffic. “This is a lanolin and shea butter lotion, which works pretty well. Here-” he grabbed Patrick’s hand, turning it palm-up. He squeezed the sampler bottle, and nothing came out at first. David squeezed harder, and the bottle spurted, suddenly gushing a small mountain of lotion into the center of Patrick’s palm. 

“Whoops. That’s...a lot.” David grimaced, putting the bottle back on the shelf before taking Patrick’s hands between both his own, working the lotion into Patrick’s skin. He took more time doing this than was strictly necessary, probably, but David couldn’t help but notice how perfectly Patrick’s hands fit in his own. He also couldn’t help but notice Patrick didn’t pull away, and how he kept his eyes on David the entire time he was smoothing the lotion gently into his knuckles and calluses. He felt his skin warming under Patrick’s gaze, but studiously kept his eyes down, focusing on the task, quite literally, at hand. Finally satisfied that all the lotion had been absorbed, he released Patrick’s hands, rubbing his own together and nodding at Patrick to do the same. “You’ll want to reapply this anytime you wash your hands. And wear work gloves, if at all possible, to protect them from the elements. If you wanted to get fancy you could even wear some moisturizing gloves at night, but…” 

Patrick looked up at him, a small smile on his face. “Thanks,” he said softly. David waved away the expression of gratitude with a flip of his wrist.

“It’s nothing. Is there anything else I can assist you with today, now that I’m done correcting your skincare routine?” Patrick laughed at this, ducking his head to inspect his now-moisturized cuticles. 

“I did want to ask you something, actually.” Patrick licked his lips, looking a bit nervous. 

“Is about hair products? Because those curls could use some work-” Patrick scowled playfully at David, and David tucked his lips in, cutting himself off.

“My hair is fine, thank you.” David shrugged pointedly, wanting to dispute this, but Patrick ignored it and pressed on. “I was wondering if I could talk you into having dinner with me. To hammer out some of the details of our...mutually beneficial business relationship.” David tried not to smile at this, but failed spectacularly, feeling his mouth tug up on one side. 

“That would be nice. Sure.”

“Have you been to the Sou’Wester? Best place in town.” Patrick deadpanned. David rolled his eyes, refusing to dignify this with a response. Patrick grinned at him before plucking a bottle of hand lotion from the shelf and heading towards the register. David followed behind him to check him out (in more ways than one), ignoring the voice in his head telling him he was heading towards dangerous waters. 

David watched Patrick thoughtfully as he left a few minutes later, the wheels in his mind turning. He was certain Patrick wasn’t the only one in the village who could benefit from better skincare practices. The store didn’t carry much in terms of those products, but the potential was certainly there; he knew of sheep farms not too far outside of town that could be a local source for lanolin for lotions, wool for socks and sweaters. Local products and crafts could be a huge selling point for tourists. The store already carried some local items, mostly things like driftwood art and paintings. Integrating more of these products would benefit both the store and local artisans. The restaurant, too, could incorporate more farm-to-table menu items. Making a mental note to discuss it with his dad at some point before dinner, David turned back to the inventory, trying to tamp down the excitement he felt building as the day wore on towards evening. 

When the shop closed for the night, David headed home to change for dinner and found his father in the living room, which had been converted into a temporary convalescent space while he recovered from his hip surgery. 

Looking up from his newspaper, John greeted David with a smile. “Hello, son! How’s the store doing?”

“Mm, it’s _thriving_ ,” David said distractedly, settling on the edge of the couch next to his dad’s recliner, gathering his thoughts and trying to determine how to propose his idea. 

“Thriving, really?” John’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

“Um. Maybe not thriving, actually. It _is_ the off-season. But I have some ideas I wanted to run by you, if you have time?” 

John laid his newspaper on his lap, giving David his full attention. 

“Sure, David, sure. What’s on your mind?” Taking a deep breath, David launched into his explanation for his vision for the store and restaurant’s future; focusing more on community-sourced products, setting up an online store, and creating an environment that supported the local economy while catering to tourists’ interests. 

When he was finished, John was looking at David with an expression that he couldn’t quite read, and David sighed. “If you don’t like the idea, that’s fine. I just thought-”

“No, that’s not it at all! It’s a great idea. You came up with this on your own?” David’s face flushed and he looked away from his dad to fiddle with his rings, unable to accept the compliment straight on. 

“Well, yeah. Mostly. I was talking to Patrick. Brewer, the fisherman?” John nodded, acknowledging he knew who David meant. “Anyway, he makes this incredible seafood dip, and I was telling him we should sell it in the store. And then I started thinking about the other people in the community whose products we could sell, and the idea just grew from there.” 

John smiled, nodding. “That’s great, David. Talk to Patrick, work out some details, and we’ll come up with a contract.” 

David nodded, standing up to head towards his bedroom to change. 

“David?” John called. David paused in the doorway, turning back to look at his father. “I’m proud of you, son.” 

“Thank you,” David said quietly, biting back a smile, more pleased than he would ever admit. 

* * *

Later that night, David found himself tugging nervously at the sleeves of his sweater as he sat at his favorite table in his family’s own restaurant. His back was to the door, and he was giving himself whiplash with how often he was checking to see if Patrick was on his way in. He told himself he had no reason to be so anxious; this was a business dinner. It didn’t matter that Patrick was cute and disarmingly charming and made David laugh. He was a fisherman. In Peggy’s Cove. He was far from being David’s type and furthermore, someone like Patrick couldn’t possibly be interested in him. With a groan, David closed his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face. 

“Hey, sorry I’m a couple of minutes late,” David looked up as Patrick slid into the chair across from him. His expression looked concerned, taking in David’s apparent distress. “Are you okay?”

“Mmmhmm. Yep. Just a little headache. Nothing a drink and some food won’t fix,” David smiled tightly, feeling a flush up his neck as he took in Patrick’s wardrobe choices for the evening. The dark blue button-up, open at the neck, paired with dark-wash jeans, was quite a departure from his coveralls and bulky-knit sweaters and hats. His curls even looked like they’d been properly moisturized and brushed. 

“You look very nice, by the way.” 

“Oh, thank you. I thought I’d dress up for the occasion, you know. Business attire, for our business meeting.” 

A thrill ran through David as he noticed the tips of Patrick’s ears were pink. He quickly changed the subject, trying to take his mind off what else he could do or say to make Patrick blush. 

They split an order of calamari, chatting quietly and catching up on each others’ lives over the last decade. 

“So what have you been up to since high school? You never left Peggy’s Cove?” David asked after their meals arrived, nibbling on a fry. 

“I did, actually. I went to business school in Toronto and was a financial analyst at a firm for a few years before I came home to work for my dad.” 

“Really?” David couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. 

“Is that so shocking, David? That someone would spend time and money earning a business degree only to return to their hometown to become a fisherman?” Patrick’s tone was light, and David found himself smiling yet again. His face was starting to hurt. 

“It’s not that, actually- I just ...did you work in a cubicle? Did you wear a little pocket protector? I can’t picture you as a businessman.” David couldn’t stop himself, his voice shaking with laughter at the image.

“No? Why’s that?” Patrick laughed, pushing his curls back with one hand. David’s heart raced. What was it about that move that made him feel weak in the knees?

David waved a hand at him, a loose gesture meant to encompass all that Patrick was.“You belong here, Patrick. With your whole...thing.”

“My whole _thing_?” Patrick’s sparse eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into his hairline, an incredulous grin on his face.

“The hair, to begin with. I’ve never seen a business major with a mop like that. Then,” David raised his voice, speaking over Patrick’s laughter. “There’s the fact that this is the first time I’ve seen you in a shirt with buttons.” 

“Okay, okay. I used to wear my hair shorter, by the way, but maybe you have a point. With my family, ending up as a fisherman was sort of inevitable, but I have been able to use my business acumen in some capacity.” Patrick began ticking off examples, counting on his fingers. “My dad was on the brink of shuttering his entire operation before I came home, and I was able to help him cut costs and increase profit margins. I’ve helped some of the guys renegotiate their contracts with local restaurants and markets. Plus, I do taxes every year for half the village on the side.” He was so earnest that David couldn’t find it in him to tease him anymore. 

“That’s actually...very impressive. You sound like you really care, about- about all of that. Your work, and the people here.” Patrick’s expression softened as he nodded, chewing his food thoughtfully. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” Something inside David ached as he wondered what that must feel like; to sit down at the end of the day and feel fulfilled by the day’s work instead of exhausted and embittered. 

As the evening wore on, Patrick asked him a lot of questions and seemed genuinely interested in his life in New York. David, however, found himself not really wanting to talk about New York; his stomach churned uncomfortably as he vaguely described his work at the gallery. 

It wasn’t that David didn’t enjoy his work; it just seemed frivolous at the end of the day, and didn’t satisfy David’s desire to make his mark, have some creative control. His job at the gallery was about ensuring the artists’ visions were executed to their liking, and David found himself growing restless, wondering what else could be out there. 

Growing up in Peggy’s Cove, he dreamt of living in New York, surrounding himself with beautiful artwork and beautiful people, which he now had in spades. He just hadn’t exactly anticipated that it would also include working late into the night to fill the lonely hours, or the emptiness he would feel when he was schmoozing and wining and dining to ingratiate himself to artists and patrons who couldn’t care less. But still, he told himself. It was what he’d always wanted, what he’d worked so hard towards. Giving up at this juncture would feel a lot like failure. 

He and Patrick finished their meals, their conversation taking a pleasant, meandering path through a wide variety of subjects before their waitress brought them dessert menus. 

“So are we splitting the apple crisp or the gingerbread?” Patrick asked, studying the menu carefully. 

David glared at Patrick over the top of his menu, but there was no real heat behind it. Patrick smiled back at him, brown eyes twinkling. 

“Let me guess. David doesn’t usually share dessert, does he?”

“No, David does not.” 

“How about we compromise, then? We’ll order one of each and split.” 

David contemplated this for a moment. “Fine. But we have to get ice cream on the crisp and the lemon sauce on the gingerbread.”

“Deal.” 

They spent most of the time eating their shared desserts laughing, knocking each others’ spoons out of the way. David couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much, and he felt warm and content as the tab was settled - Patrick insisted on paying, despite David’s many protests, so David ensured he got the family discount. 

“You know,” Patrick said quietly as they stood from the table. “For a business dinner, we didn’t get much business done.”

David grimaced. 

“You know, you’re right. I guess we’ll just have to do this again sometime. Give it another try.” Patrick looked at him for a moment before looking away and taking his time to put on his coat, studiously fastening the buttons as he spoke as if the task required most of his attention. 

“Why don’t you go out with me sometime? On the boat.” David’s breath hitched for a moment, and he swallowed hard before answering. 

“You know, I’m not much of a boat person?” At this, Patrick snapped his head up to look at David, his eyebrows rising comically, and David suppressed a smile. 

“How can you grow up in the Cove and not be a boat person?” 

“Um, excuse me, but my parents run a combination restaurant and gift shop which, last time I checked, was a fairly landlocked enterprise.” Patrick laughed at this, nodding. 

“Fair enough. I still think it would be good for, you know. Our business relationship. For you to see some behind-the-scenes stuff.”

David regarded him carefully for a moment. Patrick kept saying “business relationship” pointedly, playfully mocking David for using the term in the first place. David couldn’t help but wonder if there were more layers to that than just having an excuse to tease him. He was willing to do whatever it took to find out. 

“Okay, fine. You win.” Patrick’s answering grin could rival the light of a thousand suns, David was sure of it. 

“Perfect. Meet me at the docks at 4:30 a.m. tomorrow.” David’s jaw dropped, and Patrick started to walk away, still smiling at him over his shoulder. 

“4:30….in the _morning_?” David’s voice reached an octave he wasn’t previously aware existed. 

“Don’t be late!” Patrick called, pushing the door open, seeming confident and assured that David would be there despite his incredulity. David knew Patrick was right to be confident, and that he would absolutely be there at a time that shouldn’t even rightfully exist if it meant spending time with Patrick, and that he was in so, so much trouble.


	2. Hearts Are Heavy and the Sea is Wide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick teaches David a thing or two about fishing, and introduces him to someone special in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title is from the song O I Long to Feel Your Arms Around Me by Father John Misty. 
> 
> This chapter is relatively short, but it is the shortest one aside from the epilogue. There's some serious yearning ahead, but it will (hopefully) be worth it in the end.
> 
> And of course, don't forget about the companion playlist for this work! https://tinyurl.com/s34zjqc

When his alarm went off at 3:45 the next morning, David seriously considered, for about half a second, standing Patrick up. But Patrick’s warm eyes and button face and beautiful curls swam into David’s sleep-addled brain, and he smiled into his pillow before dragging himself out of bed. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, so for once he put vanity aside and dressed for function rather than aesthetic. He had a few waxed wool sweaters shoved in the back of a drawer from years ago, and his dad had a pair of sturdy boots he could borrow. As far as pants, well. He’d have to make do with his least-expensive pair of jeans and a layer of leggings underneath. Yawning, he was pulling his boots on over a pair of thick woolen socks when his phone chimed with an incoming text. Patrick’s name lit up on the screen, and David found himself smiling as he swiped it open. 

**_Stopping at DayBreakers before heading to the docks. Want anything?_ **

David pondered that whomever had thought to open up a coffee shop in the village that specifically catered to fishermens’ hours within the last few years was either a person who had stunning business acumen, or masochistic tendencies. 

David tapped out a reply before standing up, sliding his phone into his pocket, and heading out the door. 

When he arrived at the docks a short time later, he was surprised to find them nearly abandoned. A handful of small boats remained, but most of the larger fishing vessels were already gone. He pulled his phone out, getting ready to double-check the time and text Patrick, when he spotted him coming towards him with two coffee cups and a paper bag in his hands. 

“Hey, good morning,” he said softly, pressing one of the cups into David’s hands. “Caramel macchiato, skim, two sweeteners and…..a sprinkle of cocoa powder?” 

David nodded emphatically, curling his hands around the warm cup. 

“That’s correct. Thank you.”

“Brought you a scone, too. Hope cinnamon chip is okay.” David smiled and nodded again, taking the bag from him before gesturing questioningly around. 

“Where is everyone?”

“Ah. Well, the big boats head out around 4:00 and things can get pretty hectic. I figured for your first time out we’d start slow, go out on our own.” David was thankful for the semi-darkness still enveloping them, silently cursing the blush he could feel erupting along his entire body. He told himself not to think about how romantic it might be, out on the water, in the cold, watching the sunrise alone with Patrick. 

Snapping out of it, David followed Patrick as he led him towards a small fishing boat a short ways down the dock. Patrick looked like he was trying to hold back laughter as he held a hand out to David, helping him clamber unsteadily aboard. Once on the boat, David sat heavily on a stack of crates, nibbling on his scone as he watched Patrick work to back them away from the docks and into the open water as the sun started to come up. 

“Do you know anything about tying knots?” Patrick asked a short time later, handing David a length of rope. David smirked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know.” 

Patrick threw him a disapproving look, but David thought he detected a hint of a blush crawling up his cheeks in the pale dawn light. “Fisherman’s knots, David.” 

“In that case, no, I don’t.” 

“Okay, well I’m going to teach you, then.” 

David bit the inside of his cheek, trying in vain to keep the smile off his face as Patrick demonstrated the knot, gently touching David’s hands to show him how to hold the rope in order to get it right. 

Patrick also showed him the proper way to pull in the nets, repeatedly assuring him he wouldn’t have to touch any actual fish (“At least not today,” he’d said, grinning when David shot him a deadly look.) 

During a lull in the work, David found himself sitting again on the stack of crates, staring out at the water. He was cold, and he smelled like ocean water and fish, and his hair was a disaster. But an odd sense of calm settled across his skin and into his bones, and when he looked up to find Patrick smiling at him, he smiled back, genuinely happy to have found himself here. 

* * *

"What are you  _ doing _ ?" David yelped a short time later. He and Patrick had dropped off their moderately-sized catch at the docks and returned to solid ground safely, and Patrick was now risking that safety by picking his way across the dangerous-looking rocky expanse of shoreline near the lighthouse. 

"I'm getting a closer look at the water?" Patrick answered, shrugging his shoulders. 

"Um, hello. This sign clearly states "injury and death have rewarded careless sight-seers here." David flapped a hand at the ominous sign in question.

"Good thing I'm a careful local, then." Patrick grinned at him, but anxiety hummed through David like an electrical current. 

"Patrick! Please. It says to savour the sea from a distance."

"If I didn't know any better, David, I'd say you're concerned about my wellbeing." David rolled his eyes at this, ignoring the flush he could feel creeping up his face. 

“More like, if you slip in and die, I’ll have to somehow convince them I didn’t push you in. I’m not going to prison for you.”

Patrick laughed suddenly, the sound bursting forth from his chest. David loved the sound of his laugh; it was soft and somewhat wheezy and it always sounded like he was surprised by it. 

“Okay, David. I won’t go any further.” Instead, Patrick slid to the ground, perching himself on a rock facing the ocean. 

David tried not to look at him as he sat there, tried not to think about what his lips might taste like (salty, like the ocean) or how his skin might feel beneath his fingers (warm, and soft in the places unexposed to the elements). He tried to ignore how the sight of Patrick- staring into the ocean, wind-tossed, swaddled in thick-knit wool, and looking downright beautiful with the early morning sunlight bouncing off his curls- made David feel at home for the first time in years. Unable to keep his distance, David stepped carefully towards Patrick and lowered himself onto the rock beside him. 

Patrick was studying the horizon, reminding David of the way he himself would often look out at the tumultuous water in an attempt to calm his nerves. Growing up, he would spend hours staring at the ocean as if it held the answers to every question he had rattling around inside his head. The water would churn and ebb and flow, lapping up on the shore, waves crashing and sometimes destroying everything in its path. If something as vast as the ocean couldn't be expected to keep its whims contained, couldn't hold its multitudes within itself, how could he? He always felt so small, his emotions overwhelmingly huge. He couldn't possibly hold all of them inside forever. 

David picked up a small rock, slate-gray and worn smooth from tumbling around the ocean floor. He turned it around in his fingers, noting the striations of lighter colors running through it like lightning splitting the night sky. 

“Do you ever get scared out there?” David asked, a troubling thought suddenly occurring to him. Patrick dragged his gaze from the water slowly, as if it took him a moment to snap out of his reverie, and looked over at David. 

“Like during storms and stuff?”

David nodded, affirming this is what he meant. 

“Sure. Of course. Anyone who works on the water that says storms don’t scare them is either lying, or an idiot, or both. You need to find the right balance. Too scared, and you’ll lose your mind when you need it most. Not scared enough and the ocean will have to remind you who’s in charge.” 

“That sounds intense.” David said quietly, his stomach tightening with fear as he pictured a boat rocking wildly on the water as waves crashed over the sides. 

“It can be. Thankfully my crew is pretty good. Most of them just want to get back to whoever is at home waiting for them at the end of the day.” Patrick smiled, and it looked a bit rueful. 

“Oh. Well. What about you?”

“What _ about _ me?” 

“Anyone waiting for you at home?” The words were out of David’s mouth before he could stop himself. Patrick was quiet for a moment, his warm eyes searching David’s face before he looked off again towards the ocean as he answered. 

“Ah, sure. I have Mack.”

“Mack?” 

“Yep. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“That sounds nice. I’m glad. That you- you have that.” David tried to school his tone, hide the disappointment he felt. Patrick had a boyfriend or a partner, of some kind. David shouldn’t have been surprised, honestly. Patrick was funny, and charming, and good-looking. A hard worker and someone who obviously cared about others. And it’s not like it should matter anyways, right? David wasn’t looking for a relationship in Peggy’s Cove. The fewer threads he had tying himself to this place, the better. 

Patrick turned back to David then, the hint of a smile on his face. “Me too. Would you like to meet him?”

“Um… I don’t-”

“We’re friends, right?” Patrick persisted. “It’s really important to me that he gets along with my friends, so I’d like you to meet him.” 

“Um...Okay. Sure.”

“Great, let’s go.” Patrick scrambled to his feet suddenly, reaching a hand out to help David up. 

“What, like right now?” 

Patrick shrugged. “Why not? It’s as good a time as any.”

David sighed, slipping the rock still in his hands into his pocket and reluctantly allowing Patrick to pull him to his feet. He would have preferred more preparation - a shower, at the very least, since he still smelled like fish and ocean water - but he couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to delay.  _ I don’t want to meet your boyfriend because I have an overwhelming desire to kiss you every time you look at me _ didn’t seem like an appropriate reason, so David kept his mouth shut and followed along. 

They walked the distance to Patrick’s place, which was an apartment housed in a small building a short jaunt from the docks. 

As Patrick shouldered open the door to unit B13, he forewarned David: “Mack can be a little bit standoffish at first, but he’ll warm right up to you. I’m sure of it.” David’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, but he smiled at Patrick in response and hoped it didn’t look too strained. 

“Mack? Baby? I’m home!” Patrick called once the door was open. David tried not to flinch at the term of endearment. It was all so painfully  _ domestic _ . David stood awkwardly in the kitchen for a moment as Patrick went further into the apartment, apparently looking for his beau. David spotted an old photograph on the fridge and stepped towards it. A young Patrick, curly hair mussed, bundled in an oversized sweatshirt, standing on a boat with his dad. He was holding a fish in his hands, squinting in the sunlight with a grin on his face. David smiled, thinking that the boy in the photograph was so much closer to the Patrick he had once known and so far from the man he’d become. 

A moment later, his thoughts were interrupted as he heard Patrick’s voice coming from what David assumed was the bedroom. 

“There you are! Come on, I have someone I want you to meet.”

David braced himself as he heard footsteps approaching, and turned to see Patrick with a huge grin on his face and...a large orange tabby cat cradled in his arms. Even from a few feet away, David could hear the low purr emanating from it. 

Mack was a cat. David had never been so relieved to see a cat in his entire goddamn life. 

“David, this is Mackerel. Also known as Mack, also known as the light of my life. Mack, this is my friend David.” 

Mack gazed up at David as Patrick stepped closer. He had huge green eyes and a pink nose and the tip of one of his ears was missing. He had a large, friendly face, and his fur looked clean and soft. David wasn’t overly fond of animals, but he thought he might make an exception for Mack, and he extended one finger towards him. Mack’s nose wiggled as he sniffed at David, his purring intensifying. 

“Hi Mack,” David said softly, petting him gently on the top of the head.

“I think he likes you.” David looked up to see Patrick watching him closely.

“I think I might like him too,” David laughed. Mack gave a doleful meow before wriggling out of Patrick’s grip, jumping to the floor with a graceless thunk. 

“I honestly was not expecting Mack to be a cat,” David admitted, watching Mack saunter over to a food bowl and start munching on the dry morsels. 

“Had me pegged for more of a dog person, eh?” 

“Mmhmm,” David agreed quietly. “Something like that.”

“I was, honestly, until I found Mack. He stowed away on the boat one day.” Patrick crouched down next to Mack where he was still happily crunching away at his food, and fondly scratched his ears.

“I think he liked the smell of the fish. Anyway, he kind of took to me and ended up following me home. We’ve been kind of inseparable ever since.” 

“That is just...painfully adorable.” 

“Ah, yes, a single guy living alone with his cat. Extremely cute.” 

“Having one cat is cute. If you had like, four or five, it would be concerning.” Patrick laughed at this, straightening back up and leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Oh, okay. Good to know.” It was quiet for a moment, and David fiddled awkwardly with the rings on his fingers as Patrick watched him. The air felt charged, the two of them standing closely in Patrick’s tiny kitchen, and David was certain his heart was beating loudly enough for Patrick to hear.

“It’s occured to me that we still haven’t discussed our business arrangement,” Patrick said suddenly, breaking the tension that was building in the room. David blew out a breath, nodding.

“You’re right. So let’s discuss business, shall we?” 

Patrick gestured to the small kitchenette set in the corner, inviting David to sit down. Mack followed them, jumping up on the table and flopping over, his tail flicking lazily across its surface. Patrick scolded him for being on the table, the shaming effects of his discipline undermined by his affectionate tone and the fact that he was scratching the cat under the chin. David was annoyed with himself for finding this so charming, and refocused their conversation. 

“Here’s what I’m proposing: We sell your products - the dip, some smoked fish, et cetera - on consignment. During the off-season, you give me a hand with bringing in other local entrepreneurs, writing up contracts, helping balance the books. I can talk to my dad about bringing you on as a part-time business consultant while he recovers.” 

Patrick leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. “Wow. You’ve really put a lot of thought into this, eh?” David shrugged, attempting nonchalance to hide how thrilled he was that Patrick seemed impressed. 

“I just...really feel like the store has a lot of untapped potential. We can cater to tourists while better supporting local artists and farmers-- and fishermen,” David nodded toward Patrick, smiling. “And I could use your help doing it. If you’re interested.” 

“Oh, I am. Very interested.” Patrick stuck his hand out towards David again, as he had the day before in the store. “Business partners?” David took it, noting how much softer Patrick’s skin already felt. 

“Business partners,” he agreed. 

* * *

A few weeks later, David found his mind wandering back towards his conversation with Patrick by the lighthouse as a storm brewed out in the bay. He felt a simmer of anxiety in his stomach, even as he tried to reassure himself. Patrick was experienced; he did this for a living; he would be fine. 

Still, he found himself watching the clock as the sky grew darker and the waves crashed in the distance, visible from his vantage point in the store. Typically, the boats came to dock in the early afternoon, which meant Patrick should be due back any minute now. 

Calling out to Alexis to keep an eye on the store as he bounded down the stairs, David pulled his parka on and went out the door. 

Head ducked against the sideways-blowing rain as thunder crashed overhead, David quickly made his way towards the DayBreakers coffee shop, which had a closer view of the docks. The barista - a sweet-faced young woman with an even sweeter disposition named Twyla - greeted him with a smile.

“Hi David! The usual?” David smiled softly back at her and nodded, taking a seat near the window. David tried to focus on things in his immediate surroundings in order to take away his anxiety about the storm: Twyla singing softly to the music overhead, the gentle clinking of dishes and hissing of steam as she prepped his macchiato, the slide of the pastry case door as she pulled out his cinnamon scone. All the while, however, David just kept glancing at his watch and peering through the rain-washed windows, willing the fishing boats to appear in the harbor. The minutes ticked by, David’s stomach winding tighter and tighter as his coffee went cold and his scone got picked apart, worried to crumbs. 

“Everything okay?” Twyla asked gently, stopping by his table to pick up his plate. David cleared his throat, waving a dismissive hand. 

“Mmmhmm, yep.” Twyla looked at him, then at his plate, piled high with crumbs from a scone he didn’t eat a bite of, and back at him. 

“Okay…” she drew the word out, her tone skeptical. “Well if you want to talk about it-”

“It’s just. The boats? Shouldn’t they have been back by now?”

Twyla’s expression softened. “You’re worried about Patrick.” It was a statement, not a question. David looked away from her, fiddling with his rings. Damn the small-town rumor mill, he thought. 

“I mean. I’m worried about  _ all _ of the fishermen-”

“They’ll be back soon.” She assured him gently. “And when they do get back? I’m sure Patrick would appreciate a cup of lemon lavender tea. It’s his go-to when they’ve had a rough day, and he almost always stops in here before heading home.” 

When Patrick walked through the door of the coffee shop an hour later, hair dripping wet and expression harried, David pressed a warm mug of tea into his hands. Patrick took it from him gingerly, his expression softening into one of pleasant surprise, an unspoken question in his eyes.

“I just wanted to make it clear you have someone other than Mack waiting on you,” David said softly, before turning towards the counter to order two more cinnamon scones. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Julia for coming up with the name for Mack, AKA the Nova Scotia Soggy Boy. For anyone who is curious, Mack's description was inspired partly by Bilbo the Good Cat Boy on twitter and partly by my own cat, Teddy- two very good and handsome cats.


	3. Jump Right In and Swim Until You’re Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pining starts to pay off, and also there is singing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song Atlas Hands by Benjamin Francis Leftwich- which, as always, can be found on my companion playlist: https://tinyurl.com/s34zjqc
> 
> Also, I know I said I'd be posting every third day, but I decided I want to finish this ahead of the S6 premier. Expect another chapter Sunday and the epilogue sometime Tuesday.

They eventually fell into a routine as fishing season wound down. Patrick would get back to the docks around the time David would take his lunch; if he got back early, he’d meet him at the store. Running late, David would be waiting for him at the coffee shop, tea in hand. 

Rumors swirled; Alexis gave David annoyingly pointed looks every time Patrick dropped by the store. But he brushed it all away, because it’s not as if there was anything going on between them; they were friends, sure. Business partners, sort of. But nothing that warranted the furtive glances and raised eyebrows and barely-hidden grins. 

One afternoon, they walked into the coffeeshop and sat at what had become their usual table. Moments later, Twyla brought them their usual orders, unprompted. David smiled at her as she set their mugs on the table.

“She’s a sweet girl,” Patrick said softly as she walked away. “She’s had an interesting life. Kind of difficult. She’s never let it get her down, though.” David picked up on the fondness in Patrick’s voice, almost protective. 

“Did you two ever…” David began, delicately, eyebrows arched. 

“Me and Twyla?” Patrick asked, his tone surprised. David shrugged, then nodded, and Patrick laughed. 

“No, no. She moved to town after I’d already figured out I’m gay. I left the whole ‘dating women’ thing back in my college years.” 

“Oh,” David said softly. He wasn’t entirely surprised; he was sure he’d caught Patrick checking him out once or twice, and their conversations were flirtatious more often than not. But something about Patrick saying it out loud -  _ “I’m gay” _ \- made David’s heartbeat speed up, and something that felt a lot like hope fluttered in his chest. David silently chastised himself for this reaction; he and Patrick were friends, and if either of them had any sense of self-preservation, that’s all they would remain.

As the weeks passed, David busied himself with drumming up new business for the store, sourcing local products and launching an online shop. Once fishing season ended, Patrick spent more and more time at the store with David, assisting with the business end of things while Johnny continued his recovery. They circled each other carefully, their days spent arguing good-naturedly over the musical merits of various pop divas and the correct ranking of Julia Stiles’s body of work. 

David found himself settling back into the slow pace of Peggy’s Cove, falling into a routine and pleasantly surprised that he didn’t hate it.  Things were going well with the store; even though it was the off-season, their online orders meant they were making almost as much money as they did during peak season. David couldn’t help but preen a bit when going over the sales each week with his dad, Johnny’s impressive eyebrows raising every time the numbers went up. He enjoyed building relationships with vendors in the community, and felt a little swell of pride in his chest as he saw the store slowly become filled with more beautiful, high-quality local products. David tried to ignore how quickly the days were passing; when he’d first arrived, he was counting down the days until he could leave with eagerness. Now, each day that passed filled him a little more with dread. 

Before he knew it, the weather was growing colder and Moira and Alexis were in the throes of planning the annual Rose Holiday Party. At the end of each November, for as long as David could remember, the Rose family shut down the Sou’Wester for one night and threw a pre-holiday bash. The entire town was invited, and the food and drink flowed freely. It was always his parents’ way of giving back to the people who supported their business year-round, a way to thank their friends and neighbors. David hadn’t been home for one in years, and as the date loomed, he found himself actually looking forward to it, cautiously optimistic that it might be a good time. 

One afternoon, a few days before the party, David came back to the gift shop after a coffee run to find Patrick leaned over the counter, staring intently at a spreadsheet on his laptop. He looked up at David when the floor creaked as he crossed the room, smiling appreciatively as David pressed a to-go cup of tea into his hands. 

“Thanks,” he said quietly, blowing into it before taking an experimental sip to check temperature. David grimaced apologetically as Patrick hissed and reared his head back, and tried not to stare as Patrick’s tongue flicked out to soothe his now-scalded lips.

“Sorry about that. I asked Twyla to make it extra hot so it wouldn’t get cold on the way back.” Patrick waved a hand dismissively, setting the tea down a safe distance from his laptop. 

“No worries. So how’s the party planning coming? Are your mom and Alexis in full panic mode yet?” 

“Mmm,” David replied, mulling it over for a moment as his lips curled over the rim of his own beverage. He tried not to read too far into the fact that Patrick’s eyes flicked to his mouth, then to his throat as he swallowed. “I’d almost forgotten just how insane they get about this thing. You’d think the guest list included the Prime Minister the way they’re acting. Speaking of the guest list,” David tried to keep his voice casual, tried to pretend that he didn’t actually care about the answer to his next question. “Will you be making an appearance at the event of the year?” 

Patrick tilted his head to the side, a slightly puzzled look on his face as he opened his mouth to respond. Just then, a customer came to the counter, interrupting whatever Patrick was getting ready to say. David rang the customer up, doing his best to keep his professional demeanor while fighting the flickers of irritation as the customer asked a million questions about whether the new goat milk soaps were hypoallergenic. 

Finally satisfied, the customer left and David turned back to Patrick, who was sipping carefully on his now-sufficiently-cooled tea. 

“So. Will I be seeing you on Saturday or not?” 

Patrick smirked at him, something cryptic and playful in his eye when he responded. 

“I might stop by, yeah. I usually do.” David squinted at him, getting ready to ask him what he was up to, when a late-season tourist bus crowd entered the store, busying him for most of the afternoon and robbing him of the opportunity. 

* * *

It didn’t take long to discover what, exactly, Patrick was up to when the night of the party finally arrived. David walked into the restaurant and headed straight to the bar, grimacing as he noticed a makeshift stage in the corner, a guitar and piano set up. He would need a stiff drink (or two or five) if he was going to have to tolerate locals singing holiday music on top of enduring the party itself. 

David was fixing himself said drink when he heard a familiar voice coming from the direction of the stage, and nearly dropped the cocktail shaker in his hands. 

“Good evening, everyone! Welcome to the annual Rose Family Holiday Party.”

David spun around to see Patrick standing onstage. He caught David’s eye and jerked his chin in greeting, continuing on with his little welcome speech. 

David barely had time to register what was happening when Alexis sidled up to him, her face scrunched in her version of a wink. 

“Did you know about this?” David asked her, trying (and failing) to keep his voice level.

“Did I know that Mom and Dad have hired Patrick to play at the annual holiday party every year for the past five years? Um, _yes_ David. I did know that.” Alexis dropped her air of superiority, her expression suddenly sullen. “And so would you if ever bothered coming home for it.” David was about to snap at her, teeth bared, when Patrick picked up the guitar and cleared his throat. 

"Okay folks. This first song is pretty important to someone who means a lot to me, so I hope I can do it justice."

Patrick caught David's eye and winked as he fiddled with the guitar for a moment. David looked around self-consciously as he sat down, drink in hand, but no one was looking at him; all eyes were trained on the man onstage. 

**_I don't want a lot for Christmas_ **

**_There is just one thing I need_ **

**_I don't care about the presents_ **

**_Underneath the Christmas tree..._ **

David's jaw dropped. He wasn't sure what surprised him more - the fact that Patrick's voice sounded like  _ that _ , or the fact that he'd dared to cover Mariah Carey in front of David. David was also trying not to dwell on the fact that Patrick had referred to him as  _ someone who means a lot to him _ . He bit his lip, trying to keep his grin contained as Patrick sang, and applauded loudly when he was finished. Patrick followed it up with a few more classic holiday songs, and David did his best to school his expression as Alexis eyed him carefully. She looked entirely too smug, and David couldn’t give her the satisfaction of… what, exactly? David wasn’t sure, but whatever point Alexis was trying to make, he was determined to prove her wrong. 

"You're a brave man, Patrick Brewer,” he said as Patrick walked up to their table after his set, a huge smile on his face. “You know how sacred Mariah Carey is to me." 

"Oh, I do. That's why I practiced so much. Practice makes perfect." Patrick grinned. Suddenly, Alexis not-at-all subtly excused herself, muttering something about hostessing duties, and David shot her daggers as she walked away, winking again behind Patrick’s back. David refocused his attention on Patrick, his last statement finally registering. 

"I don't know about  _ perfect _ , the original is perfect, but-" David stopped short when he realized Patrick was just staring at him, a bemused expression on his face. 

"What?" He said defensively. Patrick shook his head, laughing as he raked one hand through his curls. A little thrill went through David every time he did that, and David fought the urge to reach up and do it himself. 

"Nothing. You're just. You're different than I remember you, but also exactly the same." David snorted, fiddling with the straw in his vodka cranberry. 

"That doesn't make any sense."

"No, I know. I think I just mean..." Patrick paused, considering his words. “You’re still as unapologetically  _ you _ as I remember you being, but now it seems like you’re actually comfortable with it instead of just pretending to be.” David was taken aback by the statement, rendered momentarily speechless. He marveled, as he had dozens of times over the last several weeks, at how Patrick seemed to be able to see straight through him, past the protective layers he’d built up over the years, directly into his battered heart. 

Patrick was staring at him intently, and David thought he felt something shift between them. He felt warm suddenly, too warm, and was it just a trick of the light or did Patrick just glance at his lips? David's heart started pounding, his brain screaming at him to not panic and just let it happen, to lean in towards Patrick and kiss him. 

David panicked. He grabbed his nearly-empty drink, sucking air loudly through the straw and hopping up from his seat. "I'm going to get a refill, want anything?" 

Patrick blinked, shaking his head slightly, and just like that, the moment passed.

"Um. No. I'm good, thanks." David nodded curtly before heading to the bar, willing his heart rate to slow down. David wasn’t an idiot. David was leaving. In a few short months, he’d be heading back to New York, back to the life he’d built for himself. Back to where he belonged. Patrick’s life was here in Peggy’s Cove. David needed to remember that. 

Remembering that got progressively harder, however, as the evening wore on. Everything was bathed in a cozy holiday glow, his family and neighbors laughing and dancing all around them, drinks settling warmly into their bellies. David felt a twinge of regret, watching as Alexis and their mother wheeled their dad around in a wheelchair to keep him off of his bad hip, greeting their guests. He’d forgotten how much fun these parties were, and could no longer remember half the excuses he’d always made for refusing to come home more often. 

David found himself leaning into Patrick as they talked throughout the night, Patrick resting a hand on David’s knee and speaking closely to be heard above the noise. Talking to Patrick was just so  _ easy _ . David often struggled with connecting with people; they thought he was too honest or didn’t understand his sense of humor.  _ Too much _ , they always said.  _ You’re just too much _ . 

Patrick never made him feel like that, deftly navigating their conversations in a way that kept David on his toes. David felt like Patrick could see him, really see him, a thought that terrified and thrilled him. In the past, the more people saw of David, the less they liked. He often pushed them away now, before they had a chance to leave him behind. 

It was the opposite with Patrick. David found himself drawn to Patrick, actively seeking him out far more often than necessary. He was funny and charming and by god, he was handsome in his own wholesome, unassuming sort of way. Every time Patrick ran a hand through his curls or lifted something heavy or threw his head back in laughter, David's heart rate picked up and he went weak-kneed like some Victorian maiden. He mostly blamed the curls -  _ those fucking curls _ . They were unruly and beautiful and shone in the sunlight. David longed to touch them, to smooth them out, to give Patrick some decent hair products to make them reach their full glorious potential. David swore Patrick knew somehow, could tell just how crazy the hair drove him, because he touched it constantly that night. Running his hands through it, pulling a single curl absentmindedly when he spoke, scrubbing a hand through the hair at the back of his head when he stretched. David found himself sitting on his hands to resist the urge to run his ringed fingers through those curls, tried not to imagine how Patrick would react to having them pulled. 

It was nearly midnight and the restaurant was close to empty when Patrick stood to leave. He looked sleepy and warm and utterly irresistible, ears and cheeks pink from alcohol and laughter. 

“Can I walk you out?” David blurted before he could stop himself. 

Patrick paused momentarily as he pulled his hat onto his head, his mouth quirking up into a smirk. “Sure.”

David walked outside with him, slightly unsteady on his feet from the mulled cider and vodka crans. They stood awkwardly on the porch of the restaurant for a moment, until David broke the silence. 

“Well. That was a fun night. Who knew you could sing?”

“David, I was the star of the musical all four years I was in high school.” David barked out a laugh at this, realizing a beat later that Patrick wasn’t joking. Patrick put a hand over his heart in mock offense, an exaggerated, wounded expression on his face. 

“Oh, sure. Laugh it up, David. You know my Mariah cover was impeccable.”

“It was good, but...impeccable?” David wrinkled his nose as he shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself. He’d neglected to throw his coat on before stepping outside, and he was freezing. Patrick’s expression turned to one of concern. 

"Are you cold?" Without waiting for an answer, Patrick pulled his beanie off his head and put it on David's, grinning mischievously as he yanked it down over David's ears. Patrick's curls were squashed down from the hat, and David's inhibitions were dampened just enough for him to reach out and fluff them up with his fingers. Patrick hummed, leaning into the contact like a cat, and there were Christmas lights strung up, and it was snowing. Snowflakes were caught in Patrick's eyelashes and his cheeks were pink and he was smiling at David, his brown eyes shining, and this time when he glanced at David's lips, David leaned towards him instead of panicking. 

The tips of their noses and their lips were cold as they met in the middle, one of David's hands still caught in Patrick's hair. The other fluttered uncertainly for a moment before resting on Patrick's face, his fingers curled around his ear, as Patrick wrapped both arms around David and pulled him closer. 

Part of David's brain was reminding him again that this was a mistake, that he was leaving to go back to New York in just a handful of months and that getting romantically involved with someone from his hometown was not part of the plan. 

The other, larger part of David's brain was kissing Patrick Brewer and thoroughly enjoying it. They’d been playing games for weeks, the slow-building tension making David feel warm to the bone, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to kiss Patrick Brewer the same way he needed to eat, sleep, and breathe, and the act of kissing him felt just as natural as any of those. 

Patrick's mouth was warm and gentle and maybe his lips were a little chapped and the kiss was extremely chaste and entirely too short, but maybe it was also the best kiss David had ever had. As Patrick pulled away, eyes closed, he was breathing heavily, and David could see his Adam's apple bob slightly as he swallowed. Suddenly, David felt nervous and wondered if he'd misread the signs and overstepped a boundary, even as he reminded himself that Patrick had pulled him closer as they kissed. 

David cleared his throat, an apology poised on his lips when Patrick spoke suddenly.

“Thank you, David.” He looked at David then, his warm brown eyes huge and reflecting the shine of the Christmas lights around them. David shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. 

“For what?” Patrick looked away from him again, a soft smile on his lips. He seemed shy suddenly, and David was startled to discover how endearing he found it. 

“I, um. I think I’ve probably wanted to kiss you since we were in high school, if I’m being honest, even if I didn’t realize it until later. So you just made teenage me very happy.” 

“Oh,” David said softly, somewhat taken aback to hear this. High school David had hardly given Patrick Brewer a second thought. High school David was an idiot. “Well what about present-day you?” David winced as the words left his mouth, hearing how desperate he sounded for reassurance. 

“Him, too. He’s pretty happy.” Patrick chuckled, pulling a hand through his hair. 

“Oh, my _god_ ,” David groaned, leaning in to kiss him again, more firmly this time.  “You know how fucking crazy it makes me when you do that?” he demanded when they broke apart. 

“Do what?” Patrick asked, his eyes wide in an expression of exaggerated innocence that told David that he knew exactly  _ what _ . 

David glared at him, eyes flicking up to his hair pointedly. Patrick broke, his face splitting into a self-satisfied grin, which David did his best to kiss right off him. 

* * *

David didn’t sleep much that night. His mind kept churning, thinking about the kiss over and over again. 

The way he saw it, they had two options: They could try to move on past the awkwardness and pretend it never happened, go back to strictly being friends and business partners. Or they could embrace it while they could, with the understanding that it was temporary. 

Would it be better, David wondered, to not have Patrick at all, or only get to have him for a limited amount of time? David thought about Patrick’s lips pressed against his, about how hungry he was to feel them again, and knew what his answer was. 

When he got to the store the next morning, Patrick was already there, clicking away at his laptop at the desk in the back office. He jumped up when David knocked softly on the open door. 

“Hi,” he said awkwardly, folding his arms across his chest, then unfolding them, then shoving his hands deep in his pockets as if he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his limbs. 

“Hi,” David responded softly, feeling as awkward as Patrick looked. The silence seemed to stretch on interminably, and David began to feel like he was going to have to bite the bullet and say something or else they would both die there, staring at each other for the rest of eternity. 

“So. I guess we should talk about-” he began, grimacing. 

“Last night. Right.”

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that I’m, um. Leaving in a few months. Going back to New York.” Patrick nodded, confirming that he understood, and David continued. “So we can either chalk it up to a fun little mistake we made while drunk-” Patrick cut him off, shaking his head as he looked at the floor, scuffing his shoe into the carpet. 

“I wasn’t drunk, David.” 

“Oh,” David said softly, feeling warmth flood through him. 

“Were...were you? Drunk?” Patrick asked, his ears reddening even as he turned his gaze back up, resolutely looking David in the eye. David scoffed. 

“Um, no. I’m not that much of a lightweight. I had a few drinks but I was completely...in control of my actions.” Patrick nodded, a small, pleased smile playing at his lips. 

“Okay. Good. I’m, uh. Glad to hear that. But you were saying?” 

“I was saying, we can forget the whole thing ever happened.” David paused for a moment, and Patrick’s face fell for just a millisecond, a blink-and-you’d-miss-it slip of his expression before he schooled his features and nodded, encouraging David to continue. “Or, we can...keep this up until I leave, have fun while it lasts. Enjoy each others’ company for the time being.” Patrick tilted his head, considering.

“So like. Friends with benefits, or…?” 

David shrugged noncommittally. “Sure, if you feel the need to label it. It’s not like it has to mean anything.” 

Patrick put his hands up, palms out, playfully defensive. “Hey, I’m okay with whatever. Just don’t go falling in love with me and we’ll be fine.” Patrick smirked and winked at him, and David’s jaw dropped- the  _ audacity- _ even as he ignored the little voice in the back of his head that said that he was halfway there already. 


	4. Like a Tidal Wave, I'll Make a Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality starts to settle in as David's time in Peggy's Cove dwindles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "Two" by Sleeping at Last- featured, of course, on my companion playlist, as are all the songs mentioned in this chapter: https://tinyurl.com/s34zjqc
> 
> (If you haven't already, at least listen to the cover of Fairytale of New York. It's amazing.)
> 
> This is where the story earns its angst tag, folks. 
> 
> Also where it earns the "M" rating, but I think it's on the tamer end of that. Still, rather be safe than sorry.

The next several weeks passed hazily for David, and he found himself caught up in the heady first days of a new--whatever this was. Sneaking into the back room of the store to make out during lulls between customers, huddling together for warmth as they walked to the coffee shop, lazy evenings at Patrick’s apartment with Mack curled at his feet while Patrick churned out batches of his dips for the store - Patrick was even voluntarily spending time with the Rose family outside of work hours. David wondered frequently if Patrick was having as much difficulty maintaining their boundaries as he was, wondered if he found himself slipping and imagining a future with him that wasn’t going to happen. Every time David’s train of thought started down that track, it pained him like an exposed nerve, and he would reroute it as quickly as possible. The situation with Patrick felt more real than any relationship David had been in, and David would ponder what cruel twist of fate had caused it before sternly reminding himself it had been his idea in the first place. 

One afternoon, during the week before Christmas, Patrick swooped into the store with a mischievous grin on his face. David had learned over the last few weeks to be wary of that look, and squinted at him as he slapped a brightly-colored flyer down onto the counter. 

**OPEN MIC NIGHT!!!!**

**Hosted by Patrick Brewer**

**8-10pm**

**Christmas Eve**

**Sign-Ups open NOW at the Whale’s Tail Tavern**

“Oh. What is this?” David asked archly.

“I’m hosting an open mic night on Christmas Eve.”

“I can see that. Congratulations. I’m sure that will be very fun for you.” 

“Will you come?” Patrick asked, eyebrows raised hopefully. 

“Absolutely not. I’m morally opposed to listening to beat poetry and bad improv this close to the holidays. It ruins the Christmas spirit.”

"David. Come to the open mic. Keep me company while I host. I’m asking nicely."

"I'd rather die."

"David, _please_? I know you don’t have any plans on Christmas Eve and it'll be fun." David looked at him skeptically. 

Patrick pouted at him - actually pouted - and David felt his resolve crumbling. Patrick was irresistible like this, pink-cheeked and earnest. It took every ounce of self-restraint to keep him from crashing their lips together right then and there, in front of god and the customers and everybody. 

“Okay, first of all, it’s completely unfair of you to use the puppy-dog eyes on me. They should be considered illegal deadly weapons. Please put them away.” Patrick grinned, knowing he was close to winning the battle. "Will there at least be snacks?" 

"I'll bring some of my dip just for you." David sighed dramatically, much less annoyed about the situation than he was willing to let on. 

"Fine. " 

So that's how David wound up at the Whale's Tail Tavern late Christmas Eve night, listening to mediocre performance art. Between his hosting duties, Patrick sat with David at one of the sticky high-tops, happily drinking his beer while David nursed a watery vodka cranberry. 

Halfway through the night, they’d already endured not one but two versions of "Baby It's Cold Outside", a ukelele cover of “Santa Baby,” and something Bob claimed was a poem about consumerism around the holidays. David thought things couldn’t get any worse when, to his horror, Patrick jumped onstage and sat at the piano. David knew Patrick was _hosting_ the open mic; he knew nothing of a performance. David thought the Mariah Carey cover at the holiday party had been bad enough for his secondhand embarrassment, but before David could fully process this development, Patrick was singing the most beautiful version of Fairytale of New York he’d ever heard. 

_[It was Christmas Eve, babe](https://open.spotify.com/track/6OmZjfzzgt6mwfRZd1S7gY?si=4r3OkaHDTmybF6Q0iYVoXg) _

_In the drunk tank_

_An old man said to me, won't see another one_

_And then he sang a song_

_The Rare Old Mountain Dew_

_I turned my face away_

_And dreamed about you…_

David wasn’t sure if the emotion overwhelming him was because he was missing New York, or because he was tipsy, or because of how Patrick kept glancing his way to meet his eye, but suddenly a lump formed in his throat and he was certain he was going to cry in this shitty bar on Christmas Eve. He took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself, but then Patrick was staring him dead in the eye and singing “... _I've got a feeling/This year's for me and you_ ” and it was too much, and the tears started falling. 

Turning away from Patrick’s gaze, David threw back the rest of his drink, wiped his eyes and bolted for the door. He sat on the steps outside the bar, huddled against the cold and willing himself to stop crying. 

He was leaving. He was always going to be leaving; the plan had never been to stay. David was angry about it suddenly, angry that this had happened and angry that he was rethinking everything. He had an apartment and a job waiting for him in New York. How could he leave it all behind? A small voice in his head reminded him that he’d never been truly happy in New York, that his nights were lonely and his days were long and that he’d ached for something more fulfilling for years. He pushed it away, telling himself that Patrick had never expressed any desire for him to stay, nor had his family. David didn’t want to stay somewhere he was unwanted. 

He was unsure how much time passed as he sat sniffling and feeling sorry for himself. It had just crossed his mind that either he should start walking home or go back inside before hypothermia set in when suddenly, the warm weight of someone else was pressed up against his side. 

“Hey,” Patrick said softly, knocking his shoulder against David’s. David took a deep, shuddery breath. 

“Hi,” he responded, not trusting himself to look Patrick in the eye. 

“Feeling homesick?” David’s alcohol-hazy mind wanted to blurt something out about how he couldn’t possibly be homesick, not when being with Patrick felt so much like home, but thankfully, most of his faculties remained intact so instead he just shrugged, then nodded. 

“It’s impossible to find good bagels around here,” David sniffed, forcing a watery laugh. 

“Right,” Patrick laughed softly. They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Patrick abruptly got to his feet, holding a hand out to David. 

“What?” David asked, nonplussed. 

“Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

“It’s pitch black and 10 degrees outside,” David argued. Patrick rolled his eyes.

“First of all, it’s really not. Second of all, the fresh air will be good for you. And thirdly, what if I promise some hot chocolate will be waiting for you at the end of the walk?” David pretended to consider for a moment - as if the combination of Patrick Brewer and a sweet drink wouldn’t be enough to convince him to walk to the ends of the earth, no matter the temperature - before reaching up and grasping Patrick’s outstretched hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. 

“You know, when I first graduated from business school I didn’t come home right away.” Patrick said as they began a meandering path through town. 

“You mentioned. You worked as a financial...something.”

“Analyst, yeah. In Toronto.” David was unsure where the conversation was heading, so allowed the silence to stretch on as Patrick appeared to be gathering his thoughts. 

“On paper, it was the perfect job. I made great money, the benefits and vacation time were good. I had a gorgeous apartment and wore an expensive suit to work every day.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there somewhere.” 

Patrick nodded and continued. “A big one. But. I was bored and lonely and didn’t feel like I was doing anything really worthwhile. I stayed for three years, which was about two and a half years longer than I should have, because I was convinced it was where I was supposed to be. All my life I’d wanted to get out of Peggy’s Cove and make something of myself. I felt like coming home would mean I was a failure.”

David was stunned. Patrick Brewer was a lot of things, he knew, but a failure was not among them. He shook his head, refuting this. 

“You’re not a failure.” 

Patrick smiled ruefully. “I know that, now. I finally allowed myself to realize that our ideas of success are allowed to change and I think… I think I’m a better person for it.” 

They walked in silence for a few minutes, David unsure how to respond, when he suddenly realized they were heading into Patrick’s apartment building. 

Patrick paused outside the door to his unit for a moment, poised to fit the key into the lock. “For what it’s worth, David, I think everything you’ve done with the store has been really incredible.” 

“Thank you,” David said quietly. 

“You’ve really made a lot of improvements. Created momentum that I think will continue even after…after you go back to New York.” David bit his lip, attempting to physically prevent himself from spilling every secret thought he’d had over the last couple of months, every doubt he’d had about going back to New York, back to his old life. 

Patrick saved David from himself, and swung the door to the apartment open, tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter as he shed his coat. “I believe I promised you hot chocolate.” 

David cleared his throat and nodded, smiling half-heartedly as he settled onto the couch. Patrick clicked around on his phone for a moment, and David's eyebrows shot up in surprise a moment later when the music started playing softly from the Bluetooth speaker.

"Is that...[the Cure?](https://open.spotify.com/track/3KwSkeKjuTRSwcN5cGp2ym?si=QH3Tl9p2RUK_Kun3JHNAyg)" Patrick looked back at him, nonplussed by David's reaction as he pulled mugs and an assortment of ingredients from the kitchen cabinets.

"Yeah? What about it?" 

"I'm just a little taken aback. I was expecting sea shanties." 

"Ha, ha." 

David watched Patrick fondly from his spot on the couch as he rattled around the kitchen, impressed that he was making hot chocolate the proper way, melting chocolate down and heating milk on the stove. Mack had settled into David’s lap, kneading him and gently butting his head under his chin. It was a testament to how fond David had grown of the animal that it didn’t occur to him that kneading could be hazardous to the clothing he was wearing. He allowed himself to forget, just for a little while, how devastating it was going to be to leave this all behind. 

“Do you want whipped cream or marshmallows?” Patrick asked a few minutes later as he poured the finished hot chocolate into two mugs. Before David could answer that he wouldn't mind a little of each, Patrick answered his own question. “Nevermind. You’re getting both.” 

Settling onto the couch next to him, Patrick handed David his mug of hot chocolate. David took a sip and made a somewhat indecent noise. Patrick looked at him, eyebrows raised. 

“This is fucking incredible,” he said quietly, and Patrick laughed.

“I’m glad you approve.” They sat quietly for a few minutes, savoring their beverages as music continued playing softly in the background. Patrick watched David as he absently scratched Mack behind the ears, and shook his head. 

“Unbelievable. He likes you better than he likes me.”

“Well,” David preened. “He has good taste.”

Mack chose this moment to jump down from David’s lap, and Patrick snorted at the stricken look on David’s face. 

“You’re a traitor, Mackerel.” David whispered, watching as Mack sauntered off, disappearing towards the kitchen and his food bowl. He turned back towards Patrick, who was looking at him with an impossibly amused and affectionate look on his face. 

“What?” David asked, suddenly feeling shy. 

“You have chocolate on your face.” 

“Where?” David lifted his hand to wipe at his lip, but Patrick caught it, leaning in towards him. 

“Right here,” he said softly, kissing him. His tongue swiped against David’s lips, and David opened up for him, savoring the taste of chocolate on Patrick’s tongue for a moment before pulling away. 

“That was such a bad line,” he insisted, kissing Patrick again, “but it worked.” Patrick laughed against his mouth, deepening the kiss and gently pushing David back against the couch cushions.They broke apart after a few minutes, coming up for air. David sat up slightly and yelped, causing Patrick to nearly tumble off the couch.

“ _Jesus_ , what’s wrong?” 

David gestured wildly towards the coffee table, where Mack was sitting, staring intently at them, having apparently returned from his search for food. 

“Your cat is a voyeur.” 

“Oh, my god, David.” Patrick scrubbed a hand over his face, exasperated. 

“I can’t do this in front of him!”

“We can go to the bedroom? It has a door.”

“Yes, please.”

“We might want to bring the speaker, though, for the music.” 

David shimmied his shoulders, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Oh? Are you planning on being...vocal? Need some white noise to spare the neighbors?” 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “I mean. Maybe? But Mack doesn’t like being shut out of the bedroom. He’ll sit outside and meow to be let in and that might be a bit...distracting.”

“Your cat is a pervert,” David insisted, getting up and stalking towards the bedroom as Patrick gathered up the speaker. 

Having ensured that the music was at an appropriate volume and that they had a solid barrier between them and the feline deviant, Patrick turned back to David and kissed him solidly. David always marveled at the way Patrick kissed him, like he needed to kiss him in order to survive. 

David couldn't help himself; he reached one hand up, tangling his fingers into the curls he was so enamored of, and pulled slightly. The responding moan that escaped Patrick's mouth served to encourage him, and he pulled harder as Patrick leaned into him, backing him up against the wall. David’s heart drummed in his chest as Patrick kissed down his jawline to his neck, sucking a mark just above where the collar of his sweater hit. David shuddered and whined, his other hand reaching back to grab Patrick’s ass.

“Jesus, David. Can I-” Patrick pulled his mouth away from David as his hands trailed along the hem of his sweater, pushing up under it.

“ _Yes_ ,” David’s voice sounded painfully desperate to his own ears, but he didn’t care. He just wanted it all off, skin against skin, and literally sighed in relief as Patrick pulled his sweater over his head and kissed down his sternum. 

“Off, please,” David plucked at Patrick’s own thick knit sweater with his fingers and helped him shrug out of it, running his hands appreciatively across his shoulders and chest. 

“You are so beautiful,” Patrick breathed, his lips brushing David’s throat, his hands low on David’s hips, and _god_ . Hearing Patrick say things like that made David ache somewhere deep inside, in a place previously untouched and undiscovered. Made David want to keep hearing it, forever, in spite of himself. Joy Division now played softly in the background, Ian Curtis’s voice burning David like a branding iron: _[love, love will tear us apart again .](https://open.spotify.com/track/1r8oPEXqnhUVgkUkJNqEuF?si=DukakHG_QW6iPx99qAbacg)_ David did his level best to push it out of his mind, groaning as Patrick’s fingers found the button and fly of his jeans, working them open and pushing the layers of fabric down past his thighs. 

David stepped out of his pants and hitched one leg up around Patrick’s waist, desperate for more friction, more contact. Patrick stilled for a moment, leaning back to look at him, and David faltered. Patrick’s expression was calculating and unreadable as he bit his lip, his eyes searching David’s face. His pupils were blown and his hair was a mess and he looked like he was about two breaths from coming completely undone. 

“Sorry, sorry should we-” David cleared his throat. “Do you want to slow down?”

Patrick smirked, shaking his head slightly before kissing David once, hard. 

“No, actually, I just. Let me-” Patrick suddenly leveraged David against the wall, lifting him up off the ground completely. David’s mind went momentarily blank as he clung to Patrick, barely able to register what was happening even as he wrapped his other leg around Patrick’s waist. He sent up a silent word of thanks for Patrick’s work in such a physically demanding job; he was shorter than David, but was strong and stocky, well-muscled enough to be able to support David’s weight. David’s entire body hummed with sensation; Patrick’s rough hands on the tender skin of his ass and thighs, his breath on David’s neck hot and rapid from exertion or arousal or both. David kissed Patrick everywhere he could reach, hands fluttering frantically to take in as much of him as possible. He smoothed them across Patrick’s broad shoulders and down his chest, fingernails raking lightly through the sparse hair there. They came to rest at Patrick’s neck, one thumb pressed into the notch of his throat where he could feel Patrick’s pulse pounding. 

Suddenly, Patrick moved him bodily away from the wall and tossed him - actually _tossed_ him - onto the bed. He then stood at the foot, chest heaving as his eyes raked over David hungrily, finally stepping out of his jeans. 

“This is, um. This is really working for me.” David breathed, nodding and waving a hand up at him. “The lifting and the, the tossing.” Patrick grinned as he joined David on the bed, holding himself over him.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind.” 

Patrick leaned down and kissed him on the mouth, soft and sweet, before moving down his body. He covered David in kisses and gentle nips, teeth and tongue leaving no part of him unmarked. Patrick’s lips explored David’s chest, the hair on his belly, his hip, the inside of his knee - Patrick was everywhere, everywhere, and David was drunk with his touch, sensation burning him up from the inside out, leaving him feeling wrecked and undone. David whined involuntarily as Patrick touched him everywhere except for where he most ached to be touched, and Patrick grinned up at him from between his legs before finally, finally giving him what he wanted. 

He relished in doing the same for Patrick a short time later, watching Patrick reach up to grip his own curls with one hand, the other tangled in David’s hair as David swallowed him down, admiring how every inch of his skin was beautifully flushed. David pushed away the thoughts of _I could do this forever_ and _I want to stay right here_ that cropped up, unbidden as Patrick dragged him up to kiss him again. He wanted it, suddenly, ached with the desire to burrow under the covers with Patrick and never come out, and it was so painfully fitting that the song now playing softly in the background was saying _[to die by your side/is such a heavenly way to die.](https://open.spotify.com/track/0WQiDwKJclirSYG9v5tayI?si=SB2an96ETmy4LhcxIQzm7A) _ David longed to pretend, at least for a little while, that this wasn’t temporary, that he could have this feeling again and again and again, because he was in love with him. 

David was in love with Patrick, and the sudden weight of that realization was almost suffocating. He could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and turned away from Patrick, rolling onto his side. Patrick kissed his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him from behind, and it was so tender it nearly broke David in half. Patrick couldn’t know, couldn’t possibly know what this was doing to him. He would never be so cruel as to handle him so gently, knowing each touch was like a shard of glass slipping into David’s heart. 

And David certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. It wasn’t what they’d agreed upon when they started this whole thing. They both knew what it was: temporary. Fun. A warm body to get them through the winter. It wasn’t like David didn’t have experience in that department. 

“I, um. I should go.” David cleared his throat, moving to extract himself from the mess of bedding and limbs. 

“What? It’s after midnight, David.” Patrick propped himself up on his elbow as David stood, looking around for his discarded clothes. David crossed to the other side of the room, closest to Patrick, and was bending to pick up his sweater when Patrick’s hand suddenly gripped his wrist. 

Pulling him gently back to the bed, Patrick looked up at him entreatingly. 

"Stay," Patrick said, his voice a half-whisper. "That’s all I want for Christmas. Please stay with me."

Even in the low light, his eyes were irresistible, endless chasms of emotion and warmth that David felt himself tumbling into. 

And so he stayed, because Patrick asked him to. Stay the night, stay forever - David knew then that all Patrick had to do was ask, and he would do it. 

* * *

David did what he could do ignore reality, and pretended to be blissfully ignorant that his time with Patrick was eventually coming to an end. They’d carved out space for each other in their lives, and David was unsure what he was going to do with the Patrick-shaped hole in his heart once this was all over. 

Instead of doing the smart thing, ripping the proverbial bandaid off and ending it before he got in even deeper, David planted himself even more firmly by Patrick’s side, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that every touch was painful, tender like a bruise. 

He looked for signs that the situation was causing Patrick any of the same distress. Occasionally, David would look up to find Patrick gazing at him, expression unreadable, and David would wonder. But then Patrick would fix his face into a soft, shy smile, embarrassed to be caught, and go back to reading his book or watching his TV show or darning his socks. 

Spring approached. The days grew longer while the number of them David had remaining in Peggy’s Cove continued to dwindle. Patrick spent less time at the store as the weather started to warm and he returned to his fishing duties, and Johnny eased back into managing things at the store in his place. But still, they continued the pattern that they’d started at the end of last fishing season, meeting up every afternoon for coffee and tea and enjoying each others company while they could.

But when the number of days David had left in Peggy’s Cove trickled down to single digits and David began receiving reminder e-mails about his upcoming flight, the stark reality started to really set in, and David resolved to do what was necessary, even if it was excruciating.

A week before his departure, David waited for Patrick at the coffee shop as usual. But when Patrick leaned down to kiss him in greeting, David turned away from him. 

“Please don’t,” David said quietly. 

Patrick’s eyebrows knitted together, a hurt expression clouding his face. “What’s wrong?” 

David scoffed, and it crossed his mind that the list of what _wasn’t_ wrong would probably be a lot shorter. 

“I’m leaving in a few days.” 

“I mean. I know that.” Patrick said slowly as he sat down.

“So what are we still doing this for?” David gestured between them. “What’s the point?” Patrick sighed, running a hand through his hair. David winced, wondering vaguely if it would be the last time he ever saw him do that. 

"I don’t know, David." David looked down at his hands, spinning his rings around his fingers. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes and he swallowed, willing them to go away. 

“This wasn’t supposed to be this difficult.” he tried to laugh, but it came out sounding closer to a sob. 

"Hey." Patrick scooted closer, leaning across the table and nudging under David’s chin gently, redirecting David’s eyes to meet his own. There was something pressing in his gaze, an expression David couldn't quite read. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with an audible click of his teeth. 

"What?"

Patrick blinked, then sighed as he leaned back in his seat again, his expression clearing. 

"Nothing. I mean. We both knew what this was going in, right? You said it yourself. ‘It doesn’t mean anything, have fun while it lasts.’ Then you go back to your life in New York." Patrick's tone was light in a forced sort of way, his voice hollow. Still, his words nearly knocked the wind out of David. Just because it was true - just because David had said it at the beginning of it all - didn't mean Patrick had to say it now. 

“Right. Of course.” David couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Patrick looked at David, silence stretching between them for a moment. 

“You know I would never ask you to stay here.” 

And that, David suddenly realized, was part of the problem. Patrick, his parents, Alexis - none of them would ever ask him to stay, and that hurt. He wanted to be asked, longed to be _wanted_ enough to be asked to stay. 

“So that’s it, then. We might as well say goodbye now, right?” Patrick continued, not meeting David’s gaze, fiddling with the peeling edge of the cafe table. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

David stood from the table, and Patrick followed suit. They regarded each other carefully for a moment, neither of them sure what to do. _What’s the etiquette for breaking up with someone you were never technically in a relationship with?_ David wondered. 

In the end, they both moved towards each other at the same time, pulling each other into a hug.

“You deserve to be happy, David, even if that doesn’t look the way you thought it was supposed to,” Patrick said into the crook of David’s neck, his voice barely audible. “I hope you remember that.”

David pressed a quick kiss to Patrick’s temple, fingers briefly entangled in his curls one more time before he pulled away, wiping his eyes and choking back tears as he left the coffee shop. 

* * *

David moved morosely around his bedroom, attempting to pack up the things he’d somehow accumulated over the past five months. As he packed up his clothes, his fingers scraped around the bottom of his dresser drawer, and closed around a small, smooth object. 

It was the rock he’d pocketed that morning on the beach, after Patrick had taken him out on the boat. The morning that, if he was honest, David first felt like Peggy’s Cove could somehow be home again.

For some reason, this tiny, stupid rock is what finally broke him. It started with an ache in his throat, then his vision started to blur as he sat on his bed, heels of his hands pressed to his eyes as if that could stop the tears from flowing. 

He sat crying quietly for a few minutes, silently berating himself. After all, he had no one else to blame for the situation he was in. It had been clear from the start that his relationship - _for lack of a better term_ , he thought - was destined to end eventually. He knew it. Patrick knew it. They’d been prepared, told themselves over and over again that their days were numbered. So why, David wondered, did he feel so raw and wrung-out over it? 

An irritatingly familiar tapping noise pulled him out of his wallowing, and he looked up to see Alexis standing in his doorway, her fingertips dancing across the top of his dresser, which was her asinine version of knocking. 

“I thought you were packing, David.”

“I _am_ packing, Alexis.” He gestured around, getting to his feet again and throwing more clothes in his suitcase. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re mourning the end of your relationship with your sweet little button.” Alexis’s nose was wrinkled up as she settled herself on the edge of his bed. He shot her a look, but hardly had the energy to make it as deadly as he’d like. 

“Alexis, stop. This _thing_ I have--had--with him wasn’t a real relationship anyway.” 

“What does that even _mean_ , David? You go on dates and sleep together and hang out 24/7.” David rolled his eyes, but Alexis pressed on. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention. How he’s memorized your coffee order, and how you bring him tea and voluntarily spend time with his cat and go to Amateur Night at the tavern whenever he’s playing. How he’s the only one who gets your weird sense of humor and never seems to get annoyed when you’re being neurotic.” Her voice had lost its usual snippy, sarcastic edge, and it made David feel somewhat unmoored. “I’ve seen how you seem truly happy for the first time in- your entire life, maybe. What about that isn’t real?” 

David swallowed over the lump that cropped up in his throat again, refusing to allow his sister to see him reduced to tears once more. 

“It’s not real because it was all just for fun. It doesn’t mean anything. And because I want to be back in New York where I belong.” 

Alexis’s expression softened into one that was unfamiliar to David. He thought, suddenly, that his baby sister had grown up a lot in his time away, completely unnoticed by him. He wondered what else he had missed. 

“Are you trying to convince _me_ of that, or yourself?” David didn’t answer her, folding his arms across his chest defensively. She nodded knowingly, a sad smile on her face as she squeezed his forearm before turning to leave. Pausing in the doorway, she cast one more sad look at him. “I’m going to miss you, David. We all are.” 

* * *

He was leaving. 

He'd said goodbye to Patrick, and it was awful and emotional and David hated every second. But he was leaving. 

He packed up the rest of his belongings and said goodbye to his parents and Alexis with promises to come home more often. He would miss them desperately, having grown used to seeing them every day and feeling closer to them than ever. But he was leaving. 

He called the cab, waited patiently for it by the curb, and climbed in when it pulled up. He was leaving, he was leaving. Going, going....

He made it halfway to Halifax Stanfield airport before he told the driver to turn around. 

His heart raced as he watched the clock, wondering if he’d be able to catch Patrick at the docks. 

He had the cab driver drop him off nearby, his heart in his throat as his eyes scanned the men working there. Not seeing Patrick, he walked over to Bob, who looked up at him in surprise.

“David! I’m surprised to see you here, I heard you were leaving today.”

“Change of plans. Where’s Patrick?”

Bob shrugged, good-naturedly nonplussed. “Don’t know. He took off a while ago, as soon as we got back in, saying he had to do something. It’s not like him to cut out of work early, though, so it must have been something important.”

David’s heart pounded as he shouted thanks over his shoulder, taking off in the direction of Patrick’s apartment. 

When he arrived, breathless, he buzzed unit B13, hoping Patrick would be home. He waited a moment before pressing the buzzer again, heart sinking by the second when there was no answer. 

David pulled out his phone, trying to think of a plan B, think where else Patrick might be, when it started to ring. Patrick’s name flashed across the display, and David’s heart sped up again, hands trembling as he hurried to answer it. 

“Hell-”

“David, don’t get on the plane.” David was so flooded with relief at the sound of Patrick’s voice that it took a second for what he had said to register.

“I- _what_?” 

“I know it’s selfish of me, but I wasn’t being honest with you before. This has...always meant something to me, and I think if you’re being honest with yourself, you know it meant something to you, too.” he took a deep breath, audible over the crackling line. “So I’m asking you to stay. With me. Please don’t get on the plane.” David hesitated for a moment, warmth flooding through him as he allowed Patrick’s words to fill him up, settle across his skin and plug the hole in his chest that felt like had been bleeding out for days. 

“Patrick, where are you?”

“I’m in my car. About 5 minutes away from the airport.”

“Well you need to turn around and go back home!” Laughter threatened to bubble up in David’s chest as his voice rose, nearly hysterical. There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, then a moment of silence, and, too late, David realized how what he’d said must sound to Patrick. Before he could correct himself and clarify, Patrick started speaking again, his voice hollow-sounding.

“Okay, David. I’m sorry. I’m not sure what I was expecting, I just thought-”

“Oh _god_ , no, Patrick. No. I’m just. I’m not at the airport!” David was fully laughing by now, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and spilling down his face. There was another beat of silence before Patrick spoke again, his tone confused and incredulous. 

“Where are _you_?”

“I’m standing outside of your fucking apartment! I don’t want to go back to New York.”

There was another moment of silence, this one so long that David pulled the phone from his ear to see if the call had dropped. When Patrick spoke again, his voice was low. 

“Are you serious? You want to stay?”

“I mean, I will have to go back, eventually. To pack up my apartment and quit my job and all that. But then I want to come back here. For good.” Patrick let out a huff of air into the phone speaker, a sigh of relief. 

“God, David. Okay. I’m on my way back. Just. Stay there. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

* * *

It was obvious that Patrick had gotten in his car straight from the docks; he smelled like the ocean, like fish, and his curls were slightly stiff from the salty ocean spray, but David didn’t care. As soon as Patrick was within reach, David crashed into him, reckless and wild as the sea itself, and kissed him. When they pulled apart, they were both sniffling, happy tears threatening to spill over. 

“David, I-“ David cut Patrick off, gently pressing one finger to his lips.

“No, let me- I want to say something.” Patrick smiled against his finger and nodded, encouraging him. 

“I don’t want you to think I’m staying here because of you. Or not _just_ because of you. You helped me realize that I want more out of my life. Or- or maybe not more, but...different?” David paused, swallowing over the lump in his throat. “I thought my life in New York was as good as it could get. I had a steady job and some decent friends and a nice apartment. And I thought I was okay with that, that it was enough, until I came back here and realized how unhappy I was.” He swallowed again, his mouth dry and heart pounding. 

“Are you happy now, David?” Patrick asked quietly, leaning his forehead against David’s. Their chests were pressed together and David couldn’t tell whose heart was pounding harder. 

“I’ve never been happier in my life.” 

Patrick grinned, pressing another kiss to David’s lips, and David gave himself over to it, allowing every feeling he’d tried desperately to keep at bay to wash over him like a wave. 

* * *

A week later, David was fiddling with his rings nervously as he sat at his gate. He was a nervous flyer, always had been, but this particular flight was sitting more heavily on his mind than usual. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining to the gallery owner that he wasn’t coming back after all, or to his landlord that he would have to break his lease. Thankfully, he didn’t have to navigate those conversations alone, unlike so many of the things he’d had to handle on his own over the years. 

“Caramel macchiato, skim, two sweeteners and a sprinkle of cocoa powder?”

David smiled as he looked up at Patrick, who was holding a coffee cup out to him. They were flying to New York for a week, a trip that would serve the purpose of Patrick seeing the city for the first time as well as allowing David to tie up the rest of his loose ends. 

Patrick settled into the seat next to him, resting a hand on one of David’s knees, fingers gently rubbing over the skin exposed through the distressed denim. 

“Feeling anxious about going home?” He asked, not looking up at David as he took a sip of his tea.

“A little,” David replied meekly, placing his own hand on top of Patrick’s. “But you’re wrong about one thing.” Patrick looked over at him, brow furrowed in question. 

“I already am home.” David squeezed Patrick’s hand, and his face broke into a grin. 

“ _Oof_ , David. What a line.” Patrick teased, leaning in to kiss him. David knew he was right, though. He’d been home since the moment he spotted Patrick on that dock all those months ago, thunderstruck by the way his hair shone in the sunlight. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! A short epilogue will go up on Tuesday. Thanks for all the comments and kudos, it's much appreciated!


	5. Epilogue:When it Feels Like I’m Lost at Sea, You’re the Song I Sing Again and Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief glimpse into the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from The Anchor by Bastille, the last song on my companion playlist:https://tinyurl.com/s34zjqc
> 
> I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone who made this little project of mine possible. Some of you know some of the stuff that happened in my life while I was writing this, and the fact that I finished it at all is a testament to how much I love y'all. I couldn't have done it without you- your encouragement, your ideas, suggestions for songs and cat names, knowledge about waxed wool, beta work, etc- this little fic belongs to every single person who nudged me along the way.

* * *

**1 year later**

Patrick’s alarm went off at 3:30 am, waking him with a jolt as usual. Beside him, David grumbled sleepily, nuzzling his face into the crook of Patrick’s neck. 

He tried to extricate himself as gently as possible, not wanting to fully wake David as he clicked on the dim bedside lamp. He thought he managed to do so, was nearly free and clear, when David’s hand snaked out from under the blanket and caught the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Wait,” he mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep. Eyes still closed, he pulled Patrick back down onto the bed. 

“David, I have to get to work,” Patrick protested weakly, allowing himself to be reeled in for a kiss. 

“Let the fish sleep in for once,” David said softly, pressing kisses along Patrick’s neck and collarbone. 

Patrick rolled his eyes and glanced at the clock. “We’ve got 10 minutes.”

“I can make that work,” David pulled back, opening his eyes and waggling his eyebrows at Patrick before disappearing underneath the blankets. 

Seven minutes later, Patrick reluctantly pulled himself out of bed again to get ready. When he opened the bedroom door to go to the kitchen, Mack sauntered in and hopped up on the bed, curling up in Patrick’s now-empty spot next to David, who had already started to doze off again. 

“Traitor,” Patrick muttered, prompting Mack to purr loudly in contentment. 

Patrick returned from the kitchen a few minutes later, setting David’s coffee on the bedside table next to him and pressing a kiss into his hair before getting dressed. Pulling a pair of thick socks from his top drawer, Patrick smiled to himself as he spotted the long, velvet ring box tucked away at the bottom. 

David stirred and stretched, revitalized by the smell of his coffee, which would do nothing to prevent him from going back to sleep for a few hours after Patrick left. “Have a good day at work, honey.”

Patrick turned to look at him, sliding his drawer closed.Patrick hated to go, was tempted to dive back under the covers with his future husband and his cat and never leave. But knowing he had them to come home to, day after day, made it a little easier. Patrick was struck all at once with the overwhelming realization that this was his life now, a life that he got to share with David. 

David, looking sleepy and warm and happy in their bed, breathtakingly gorgeous even with bedhead and morning breath, his silver-ringed hands wrapped appreciatively around the mug of coffee that Patrick had made him. David, who met him either at the docks or at the coffee shop each afternoon, tea in hand, looking relieved every time Patrick came back to him. David, to whom he was planning on proposing later that day, on the water at sunset. 

David had asked him one day, when it was that Patrick knew he loved him. Part of Patrick thought he’d fallen in love with him in high school, watching the older boy carry himself apart from everyone else, seemingly aloof and self-assured. At the time, Patrick chocked it up to admiration, wanting to be more _like_ David, not _with_ him, but in retrospect he knew that was entirely off. 

Part of him thought it was David’s first day back in Peggy’s Cove, watching him stumble through an apology in the Roses’ kitchen over a bowl of seafood dip, his cool facade having slipped slightly. 

Or it could have been that morning Patrick took David out on the boat for the first time, just the two of them. He stole glances at David where he sat on a stack of crates, one arm hooked over the side of the boat, his chin resting on top of it, staring at the ocean. His usually-perfectly-coiffed hair had wilted slightly from the ocean spray and breeze, and the color was high on his cheeks from the cool morning air. Patrick had never seen him look less put-together and more at ease, and it made something ache deep inside his chest, and maybe it was then that Patrick knew. 

Whenever it happened first, Patrick told him, didn’t really matter. Because the real truth was that Patrick fell in love with David every morning, every day somehow still feeling brand new. 

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story started germinating in my mind because my spouse was telling me a story about Icelandic fishermen, and I started thinking about how sometimes Noah Reid dresses like a fisherman and it all spiraled out of control from there. I owe my life and so many of the ideas in this fic to my friends. They provided a ton of inspiration in the form of photos, prompts, and music, and gave me a ton of great ideas and input as well as encouragement when I was convinced I couldn’t write something this long. This has been 3+months in the making and is by far the longest piece of fiction I’ve ever written. I hope it does the idea justice. 
> 
> A few more things:  
> Peggy’s Cove is a real place, as is the Sou’Wester restaurant and gift shop.   
> I’ve never been there, but I did my best to research the area, and tried to incorporate as many real-world details as I could glean from google, wikipedia, and people who have been there- the menu items, some location details, and even the warning sign on the beach are all real. Outside of these select things, any resemblance to real people, places, or events are purely coincidental, and a lot of things were simply made up along the way. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] You Were the Ocean, I Was Just a Stone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29315043) by [hullomoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hullomoon/pseuds/hullomoon)




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